The Young Engineers on the Gulf eBook

“Twenty minutes to two,” murmured Tom
to himself, glancing at his watch as the “Morton”
went laboriously back over the dancing, glinting waves.
“There’s a train due at Blixton at 1:30.
By the time I get back to the house I ought to find
one or more officials of the company impatiently waiting
to jump on my devoted neck.”

Nor was Tom disappointed in this expectation.
Pacing up and down on the porch of the house occupied
by the engineers and superintendent was George C.
Bascomb, president of the Melliston Company.
Behind him stood Nicolas, respectfully eager to do
anything he could for the comfort of the great man.

“Ah, there you are, Reade,” called President
Bascomb in an irritated tone, as he caught sight of
the young engineer striding forward. “Now,
what’s all this row that you wired us about?”

“Will you come down to the water, and go out
with me to look at the damage, sir?” asked Tom,
as he took the president’s reluctantly offered
hand.

“Our friend is not quite so gracious as he has
been on former meetings,” thought Tom, as he
led the way inside. “I wonder if he is
going to get cranky?”

Inside was a little office room, as in the foremen’s
barracks.

“Any decent cigars here?” questioned Mr.
Bascomb, after exploring his own pockets and finding
them innocent of tobacco.

“No, sir,” Tom answered. “No
one here smokes.”

“I’ve got to have a cigar,” the
president of the company insisted.

“Then, sir, if you’ll give Nicolas your
orders, he’ll run over to Blixton and get you
what you want.”

The Mexican departed in haste on the errand.

“Now, first of all, Reade,” began the
president, “I am disgusted at learning of one
fool mistake that you’ve made.”

“What is that, sir?” Tom asked, coloring.

“I’ve just learned that you discharged
Evarts—–­one of our best and most
useful men.”

“I did discharge him, sir,” Reade admitted.

“Take him back, at once.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do
it. He—–­”

“I don’t think you quite understand,”
broke in Mr. Bascomb coldly. “I directed
you to take Mr. Evarts back on this work.”

“I was about to tell you, sir, why I can’t
do anything of the sort. I—–­”

“Stop right there, Reade,” ordered President
Bascomb, in his most aggressive, bullying manner.
“The first point that we have to settle is
that Evarts must come back on the pay-roll and have
his old position. Be good enough to let that
proposition sink in before we take up the second.”

“I am very sorry, sir,” Tom murmured respectfully,
“but I can’t and won’t have Evarts
back here. I won’t have him around the
work at all. Now what is the second proposition,
sir?”

As Tom spoke he looked straight into Mr. Bascomb’s
eyes. The other glared at him unbelievingly
but angrily.